


Quest for the Lion's Heart

by MitzyBlue



Series: War of Hearts [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cunnilingus, Demisexuality, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Femslash, I Would Die For You, Love to get to know you, Vaginal Fingering, World Exploration, hardass with a softy heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 01:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitzyBlue/pseuds/MitzyBlue
Summary: She was no one first. A young mer of barely 2 years asleep in the cart with the sacks and furs. The ones who knew her name died in the attack by the bandits. Growing up, she was told that her mother was the Bosmer and her father the obnoxious wandering Dunmer bard. Whatever story they’d had was lost to arrows and the unforgiving steel of a blade. Untold history spilled like a kicked pail of milk.Two women lose their families to bandits, yet their lives follow very different paths.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [[ _Just want to apologize because this bounces in styles a little due to starting out as a backstory summery to guide my writing. Hope you can follow along and enjoy it anyhow. Cheers._ ]]
> 
> [[ALSO, Excuse me while I panic because this will be the first fic (and maybe only) I post with smut. Spirits help us all.]]

[(Model- Nikia Phoenix)](http://home.modelwirenetwork.com/media/114881/photo%20oct%2003,%207%2029%2010%20pm.jpg)

 

She was no one first. A young mer of barely 2 years asleep in the cart with the sacks and furs. The ones who knew her name died in the attack by the bandits. Growing up, she was told that her mother was the Bosmer and her father the obnoxious wandering Dunmer bard. Whatever story they’d had was lost to arrows and the unforgiving steel of a blade. Untold history spilled like a kicked pail of milk. 

It was the bandit leader who found her. He and the others had been crowing about the haul when her tiny cry shook the group in their newly won fine leather boots. Her first memories of that encounter were hazy, but sometimes, when she dreamed, she thought she remembered Chief holding her at arm's length as she wrapped fingers  around the shiny part of his gauntlet and babbled. When he squeezed at her sides she’d giggled. 

She’d been told that THAT was what had happened and what had endeared her to the bandit chief so much. 

He, admittedly,  _ had _ been quite smitten with her.  _ Most _ of the bandit camp had been. In her younger years they doted on her and she earned the name Knife Ear by waking the chieftain because she heard a ‘scary noise’ which turned out to be an attack of bounty hunters seeking to night raid the encampment. 

It was an old Altmer high elf who taught her how to how to wield and sharpen the dagger than she was given when she was old enough to walk steadily on her own.

A grizzled old nord who was rumored to have once been a forsworn taught her sword work. 

A grouchy orc who was rumored to be an assassin taught her some basic magic and how to creep silently.

The argonian of the group, Swims-in-pants, taught her how to swim and fish. And pick locks. ….and how to properly tan leather. Swims-in-pants knew and taught her quite a few things in fact.

One of the other nord men, Aric, taught her how to read and sometimes even risked going into town to pose as a fur trader and buy books that couldn’t be gotten by raiding so that she had a ‘proper’ education. She still somehow ended up with a copy of the lusty argonian maid and it was unashamedly one of her favorites for many years.

The chief taught her how to hunt and use her bow and shield. He was an old Redguard. Dark black hair tied back like ropes from a mountain. She’d loved him like a parent and mourned when illness took him suddenly without warning. A cough that started when a stray ice spell hit him in the chest during a raid-- by nightfall it was rattling and deadly… by morning it was the still and quiet of death.

She’d stepped up then, as the in-fighting for whoever could take over began, she’d shouted and pointed out a caravan. Leading the raid she somehow slipped into the empty spot that the chief had left. Not many complained or challenged her when she brought in good coin and better plans.  All the reading she’d done had made her into a thinker. It was her that reached out to some of the nearby cities with offers to the jarls-- the bandits would avoid _killing_ travelers and the jarls would turn a blind eye to the bandits taking ‘tolls’ under the agreement that they sent some of the earnings to the jarls.

A few jarls refused… but a few did not.

Since they were no longer loosing people to bounty hunters attempting to attack-- the bandit numbers grew until she had to send a portion elsewhere. Two camps became three and three became six. Eventually the Knife Ear bandits were virtually the only bandits in all of skyrim. Merging the other groups into hers and there was ‘fair’ earnings. 

It was really more of a vastly spread and morally questionable army.

Unfortunately, it was the morally questionable part that bit her in the ass. She’d never really faced the world before that. No betrayal and her only real grief had been the loss of the chief or the occasional loss of one of the bandits who’d raised her. 

So when she was set up and captured… it didn’t go over well. 

At a false tip, she went to what was supposed to be a meeting and ended up knocked silly and on a cart full of divines-be-damned nords. And not just any ‘nords’-- _Stormcloaks_.


	2. Chapter 2

The cart rattled and clacked.

Pitch black eyes opened slowly. Pain. The ache was still fresh and the blood was sticky on her cheek. Clenching her jaw, she struggled to sit up only to find her hands bound. Once she’d struggled to a partially sitting position, Knife-Ears reached a hand up to touch the wound that still bled sluggishly.

It was rare that a job would go so badly, but it seems that today the gods made an exception. 

 

“Hey, you’re awake.” The voice was gruff. Male.

Turning her head, her blurry gaze focused on the muscular blond nord sitting across from her. Her lips pressed together in a scowl. Stormcloak. Racist dirt of the earth and she was sitting bound beside him like unnamed trash. The sneer that graced her lips was feral as she pointedly looked away. Other nords dressed in dirty blue sat in the cart as well. Conversing. Lamenting. Grunting. 

_ Pigs _ .

Her focus returned to examining herself. The filthy barbarians had stripped her of her clothing, taken her items, and dressed her in rags. The sneer turned to a silent snarl and a curse to the gods. This did not seem like something she would escape.  

A shadow passed over and she looked up to see a gate. Helgen. She’d only seen the place when passing through but she recognized it well enough. Her lips pressed together tightly as she spotted someone speaking with a Thalmor agent. 

“Filthy elves,” muttered the nord while staring at the Thalmor.

Her nose wrinkled and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. Being as she wasn’t a high elf she didn’t care if he was racist or not-- though all stormcloaks were. However, she was almost used to it. Being of both Bosmer and Dunmer parentage was as bad as troll shit when it came down to it in Skyrim. 

Her lip curled in disgust as the cart came to a halt. A headsman. Of course this day was cursed. Could it not get worse? The distant roar would have had her laughing hysterically if she didn’t feel so utterly disgusted and bitter with her situation. One of the best bandit leaders in skyrim and she was taken down by circumstance and accident. When it came time for them to ask for her name, she found they didn’t even know who she was. 

A painful irony. Icing on a shitty sweetroll-- she’d die like the ones who birthed her. Far away from help, nameless, and soon to be forgotten.

A foot was pressing at the back of her knees and they hit the stone block as she fell forward. The snarl escaped her lips this time and she turned her head to lock eyes with the headsman. She opened her mouth to brag. To spill forth the last bit of bile she would be allowed in this life when the words were stopped cold in her throat.

Terror.

Behind the roar came a shadow descending. A dragon. As the beast landed on the tower, the ground shook. Eyes like flame and body like coal. Glistening  daggers of teeth. Spikes and darkness. Wings to block sight of the heavens. If that wasn’t enough, by Divines, the blasted beast shouted  _ words _ . Words that could rend the very soul and split the skies. Clouds gathered and swirled as flaming rocks fell to the ground.  

One such rock struck her and she fell. Unable to catch herself properly with her hands bound.  The world was a muddy blur as she fought for consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

As luck would have it, the keep was attacked by a dragon before she could be beheaded and she escaped off into the wilderness. The screams and smell followed her all the way to the first bandit camp--  where they attacked her on sight. At their proclaimed betrayal, she lost her grip on the smoking fringes of her composure. In her frenzied rage, she went on a tear through the small encampment, slaughtering everyone she came across-- thought most where people she’d once called friends.

Before they betrayed her to the death of a beheading. 

Afterwards she headed to another camp-- only to be met with drawn swords and threats for her to stay away. She found later that the cause was the High elves-- Thalmor-- who’d corrupted her rule. While she’d travel between encampments, the oily snakes had begun to slither in and spread rumors of how things could be different. Better. That the bandits were ‘soft’ and not respected now.

Absolute horker shit but none of the bandits were smart enough to really see that.

One of those oily bastards was an Altmer by the name of Ganrill. A longtime friend. She did not learn till much later that he was a Thalmor agent and part of the slowly spreading disease known as the Dominion. In the lull left from the Oblivion Crisis the Dominion had reared it’s ugly head and sniffed  _ opportunity _ . With that they’d spread like a plague. First the Summerset Isle, then Valenwood. Then they’d settled and spread their obnoxiously long fingers into the crevices and cracks of the land and waited for a while, clutching their prizes of land and life. 

The war that started when the Dominion invaded Cyrodiil and Hammerfell was never really much of Knife’s business. The only concern she had over it was that she’d learned early not to poke at the soldiers heading off to fight. No raid on their supplies ended well for her or her men so she gave them wide berth and ignored them. Plus- with so many at war it was easy to pick over towns and villages on the fringes. She was still careful not to kill many of the villagers-- the motto of “ _ they can’t pay you to leave if they’re dead _ ” was the best thing she’d ever come up with in her humble opinion. 

Still, she’d ignored the war-- even after Cyrodiil signed a treaty with the Aldmeri and Hammerfell fell to the rule of the hot-shit highelves. 

A lot of ex-soldiers who turned to banditry because of the ban on their worshiping talos. At least… they’d turned to banditry under her leadership until her people had turned against her and the dominion snakes took over her army. Pity the snakes didn’t know how to  _ lead _ a bunch of unwashed miscreants. No. Instead they were content in letting her masterpiece fall to ruin and the bandits spread off to rule themselves in small and easy to target groups. 

Better for her. 

Worse for them. 

So she turned to revenge. She became the nightmare in the shadows that set sentries and guards on edge. Bandit camps she’d once ruled were wiped out with nothing but stinking bloated corpses left to the sun and the animals. It was this that caught the attention of the dark brotherhood.

Astrid found her sitting in the encampment that she’d been raised in. Most of the bandits had finally died-- she’d crippled their legs and spilled their guts without killing them. A few carefully tossed eggs and she'd brought furious harpies down from the mountain to eat at the struggling survivors. It had all smelt terrible but she’d sat and watched all of it-- most of the time staring at the Altmer who’d been at fault. The Altmer who’d stolen her people and STUFF.

Astrid had offered her a place in the Brotherhood if she was willing. At the time-- all she was wanted nothing but killing. She’d become cold like the lands of Skyrim. 

So she’d joined the Brotherhood and left who she was behind.

Astrid let her choose a new name. Whatever she wanted. The prospect made her a little giddy at the time. She’d taken the name Wraith after one of her favorite books. “The Wraith’s Wedding Dowry”. It was a stupid sappy story but she’d wasted many a candle in her younger years to stay up late at night reading it and the Lusty Argonian Maid.  Even if she wanted to leave that part of her behind… a small part of the romantic who wanted someone to love was still there. That, and she liked to think she might perhaps be able to fight without messing up a lovely gown-- just like in the story. 

A really foolish notion when one considered how blood tends to spew from wounds but that was another matter. 

In the Brotherhood, she settled into a routine and even something that felt like family until the day she was sent to meet a man from another assassin sect. Cicero. He changed… everything.

With Cicero came a sarcophagus with the withered old body of what he CLAIMED was the night mother. Everyone had their doubts, really, but it was Astrid who came up with the plan. She’d suggested that Wraith listen in on the absolutely mad elf-- who honestly might have been able to give Sheogorath a run for his money-- and Wraith was to accomplish that by hiding inside the sarcophagus. 

Wraith had no qualms with the idea.  

Which perhaps, in retrospect, was the first mistake.

The hiding went beautifully until the oblivion-be-damned voice started up. A not quite ‘there’ breath of air tickled over the ear closest to the night mother.  Words caressed her and thunder seemed to fill her chest instead of the simple beat of her heart. It wasn’t even that she was afraid but there was something…  _ different _ about the experience. It was this way that she found that she was ‘the listener’-- one of the fabled five to the black hand and the only person who could actually  _ hear _ the night mother.

This hadn’t pleased Astrid. 

Not even when they found the end target was the current Emperor himself.

Then came Astrid’s betrayal. She sold out Wraith in a feeble ‘attempt’ to protect the guild. The attempt backfired spectacularly and most of the Brotherhood died. Relocating far to the north-- Wraith took the survivors and rebuilt the Brotherhood. Yet the taste of betrayal never seemed to stop lingering in her mouth and eventually she ‘ _ retired _ ’-- promising to check in and ‘listen’ for the new Brotherhood every now and again. She left the stalwart Redguard, Nazir, in charge as her second in command, and the little vampire child, Babette, as his second in command.

She left Cicero to oil the night mother and be his usual crazy self. He didn’t need her encouragement or commands. His singing and off key humming echoed after her as she closed the door to that chapter on her life.

If she was honest, the biggest reason for leaving the Brotherhood wasn’t even the betrayal since those who betrayed them were dead and burned to fine ash. No, it was the lost of her first love-- the shadowscale argonian named Veezara. Try as she might, every moment spent in the Brotherhood felt like she was missing a limb that had once been there and it was painful.

Of course, she’d always been a bit of a stupid romantic. 

Still, she knew they’d be fine without her.

So she’d left. Boredom and curiosity carried her east to the magic college in Winterhold nearby. A few years under their tutelage and she found herself itching once more to move on. Or really, just to get away from the mundane and insane that seemed to cling to the college like old spiderwebs. Wandering feet took her away and this time she turned her gaze to the south west. The dark elf homeland was said to be in that direction and she had no reason not to try and at least visit her father’s possible homeland.

She traveled hither and fro. Wandering slowly and traveling the downwards path on her map with little in the way of worry or care. There was no need for coin, if she was honest. The years in the brotherhood meant that she’d amassed her own pretty hoard of treasure and should she wish it- a simple message up to Cicero would bring down a pouch or even a chest of gold for her to throw around. Since the bandit groups still hadn’t truly recovered from being slaughtered like worthless sheep she’d not even need to worry about being robbed on the road either. 

Life became a whimsy. 

Hunt when hungry. Steal when bored. Walk and enjoy the silence of the trees. It was terribly and unapologetically bosmer of her.

With her wandering feet leading the way, she ended up in Riften. Out of boredom she got work at the docks under the name of Lyris Valos. A combination of names from old stories in history. It was there that she slowly fell in with the Thieves guild. Her time in the Brotherhood had taught her much and creeping in the shadows was easy for her. Natural. For a mer nearing her hundred and twentieth cycle-- there was quite a bit she knew how to do. 

However, picking pockets was not one of those things.

With some work though, that began to change and she practised relentlessly until she became one of the famed nightingales. Of course, this somehow came with the price of betrayal as well. The guildmaster, fearing his now precarious title would be taken just as he’d taken it from another-- attempted to kill Knife. She dealt with him like she did all others who incited her fury. At the news of his death the now growing guild elected her to lead and though she initially refused-- they were obnoxiously persistent. She finally accepted. Falling into the title and position of leadership as she had so many times before. 

The guild flourished under her hand and she spent most of her time out at the docks pretending as if she was a ‘normal’ person. Mostly it was to gather information since docks and sailors always had that in bountiful supply.

It was then that she met Mjoll.

The female nord warrior had only been in Riften for a short time before she caught Lyris’  careful eye and subsequently, her ear. 

Mjoll was driven to destroy the guild-- her reasonings were that the guild and Blackbriar family were the reasons behind the corruption and poverty of the town. Of course, she was only  _ interested _ in cleansing the corruption as repayment for some lovesmitten fool saving her life. 

The man was dumber than a box of mudcrab droppings.

But he was also partially right in where the corruption had initially  _ come _ from. At the time, Lyris didn’t care though. Her rule of the town was iron and the economy had been slowly improving since her shadow-reign began. She ordered the guild to leave the warrior alone and for a time ‘that was that’. 

Then came a day when Mjoll was on her regular patrol of the docks and she caught Lyris passing off an enchanted joke ring to one of the other workers. Of course, ‘passing off’ was really reverse pick-pocketing. An old game where the ring would get passed around and whoever ended up with it in the evening had to buy the first round. 

An easy enough feat since Lyris had filled the coffers and pockets of the guild and no longer were people struggling to simply eat on a daily basis. Her reign of the guild had been profitable and business was thriving. Most of the dock ‘workers’ were just there to kill time between jobs. Some even lingered in their early retirement days, fishing and enjoying the warm Rifton weather.

Well the angry Mjoll had demanded a duel upon catching Lyris.

Amused, Lyris had accepted on the request that it not be a duel ‘to the death’. Instead, let it be just to first-blood. To satisfy the warrior's anger, Lyris purposefully lost while, of course, also putting the enchanted ring into the woman’s coin purse instead of on another dock worker. 

Later, Mjoll furiously stormed the docks to return the ring. She also decided to make it her business to spend her days on the docks watching Lyris to make sure she didn’t ‘pickpocket’ others. This too amused the guild leader and it began a game to intentionally get caught or anger the warrior enough to start a brawl. She also took it upon herself to begin regularly bringing extra food and offering it to the warrior who hadn’t done an actual job in months and was starting to thin down. 

Mjoll regularly refused. Her claims that she wanted nothing to do with a ‘thief’ were her shield and for weeks Lyris would sit on the edge of the docks and toss some of the extra food to the mudcrabs while watching the warrior who would stand nearby and stare daggers at the fattened crabs. 

It wasn’t until Lyris started reverse pickpocketing coins into the warrior’s purse that Mjoll’s resolve crumbled.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a bright summer day on the docks when Mjoll stormed down the wooden planks. The metal on her boots clacked angrily against the wood with every step and Lyris grinned to herself as she adjusted her fishing pole. There was no bait on the pole and she had no interest in eating fish but it was something to do for the moment. 

It also amused her to simply ‘pretend’.

“YOU!” 

Lyris knew the reason for the warrior’s anger and didn’t even turn to acknowledge her as the bag of gold hit her square between the shoulders. It stung a little-- gold coins seem to make rather effective weapons. Tilting her head, she chanced a glance over her shoulder to where Mjoll stood breathing in loud and furious gasps.

“How long?!”

Lyris raised a brow before turning back and looking towards the water. The answer was that she’d been adding gold to the warrior’s pouch for  _ months _ . This was HER town after all. The beggars were well-fed and had thick sleeping rolls but they stayed beggars to pick up information for the guild. The poverty had slowly been easing away like the wrinkles on a dead man’s face-- the burdens of life slowly lessening. The coffer of the guild were brimming as her people pulled jobs all around Tamriel… so when it came to the warrior starving because she took an impossible job, of course Lyris had taken an interest. 

Well… that hadn’t been the only interest Lyris had taken but she was determined to ignore  _ that _ .

“HOW LONG?!” Mjoll yelled again, her voice echoing over the water and probably all the way to the orc stronghold on the far side.

Lyris tilted her head and shot a glance to the others who’d been relaxing on the docks. There were no ships today so everyone was sunning themselves and lazing. Brynjolf raised a brow from his position in the shade and Lyris gave the faintest nod towards the far gates. He nodded back and began silently directing people off the docks. Curious looks and lazy grins were flashed at the incensed and ignorant warrior who seemed singularly focused on Lyris. 

Instead of actually answering Mjoll, Lyris shrugged and patted the empty piece of dock beside her. Mjoll never accepted her invitations and for a scant moment it seemed that today was no different. Then the shadow of the warrior moved to at least stand on the empty section. The blond nord woman’s arms were crossed angrily over her chest and the old warpaint stain had faded to almost nothing since she hadn’t been able to afford a new pot. 

Lyris couldn’t help the cheeky grin that curved her lips as she looked up and Mjoll. 

Mjoll’s honey-gold eyes narrowed.

They’d been fighting for a what seemed like forever. Or… well… it had never really been fighting. Lyris had always accepted the warrior’s challenges and purposefully lost. She’d learned restoration magic many years prior so nursing herself back to health was never an issue. Turning back to the waters, Lyris set to once more not answering the question. 

Mjoll huffed and sat down. The move was more like something one would expect from a petulant child than a grown warrior of well over forty summers.

For a while, it was quiet, the peaceful sound of the water against the wood of the dock and the little whistles and purrs from the mudcrabs. From the town, Lyris could hear the sound of the anvil at the smithy. Balimund’s business was booming since Lyris had smuggled in several rather expensive shipments of fire salts for his forge. In return he left a portion of his earnings for the guild to collect in a small chest beside his tools. 

Eventually, Mjoll broke the silence again, “I don’t need your stolen coin.”

Lyris huffed a laugh. None of  _ her _ coin was actually stolen. All of it was from work ‘here and there’, winnings from bets, and her savings from work as an assassin. Most of the guild didn’t function on stolen coin either anymore-- just very very good business sense brought by the fact that they were no longer run by a feather-fetching moron. Well,  _ that _ and the fact she’d gotten rid of the curse, but that was another matter  _ entirely _ . 

Instead of dignifying the woman’s statement, she pulled over the lunch she’d brought that day. For the first time, Mjoll was close enough for her to simply shove some of the food onto the woman’s lap. If Mjoll tossed the food now, it was purely by her decision. Mjoll’s stomach growled loudly as she glared down at the food. For a moment, it indeed looked like she might toss it just to be stubborn. 

Lyris pulled out her own meal and spoke conversationally, “I buy it from the farm just out of town. Synda and Dravin make the baked stuff themselves. Never been a good cook myself.”

“So… it’s not stolen?”

Lyris chuckled and bit into the vegetable pastry while giving a small shake of her head. She never knew exactly what was in the little bready wraps but it was supposed to be some sort of old Dunmer dish. Before meeting the Llanith couple at Merryfair farm she’d never had Dunmer food before. It had never really been a care if she was honest, but she did enjoy it all the same. The couple treated her quite alright since she’d ‘retrieved’ their stolen bow from thieves.  Really, she’d just paid people to leave the farm alone and brought back the bow from where it had been stashed in the coffers. 

Probably too kindhearted a gesture but she’d always been too damn soft. 

A fact that seemed to echo painfully for most of her life. 

Still, she still held some hope that there was some good from keeping a bit of kindness in one’s heart. Afterall, Chief had been kind in taking in a babe and raising it. More-so when she was a mer. Veezara had been kind. Kind and surprisingly gentle. He’d shown his interest early on-- agreeing to take jobs with her and slowly letting her make her own decisions on how they should proceed. He’d approached her much the same way one might approach a wild animal.

Then again, perhaps at the time she  _ had _ been a bit... feral.

Since meeting Mjoll, she’d begun to take roughly the same approach. Aerin, the human male, was obviously smitten with the woman but he was young and foolish. Lyris also knew he frequented Haelga’s bunkhouse far more often than was considered appropriate. It was likely something that Mjoll had noticed as well because no relationship beyond ‘thankful’ and ‘mild friendship’ had developed between Mjoll and Aerin. 

Eventually, Mjoll caved. She ate the food in greedy bites that let Lyris know she hadn’t been eating proper but Lyris had already suspected that anyhow.

Lyris passed over another roll when Mjoll had finished. 

“Mjoll,” Lyris said while turning to look at the water once more, “why did you come to Riften?”

The warrior was silent for a while. The only sound being the now less desperate eating of food and gentle lap of water. 

“To repay a debt.”

Lyris raised an eyebrow, “Interesting way to do so, if I may say. Not very profitable.”

“Kindness is it’s own reward.” Mjoll answered stiffly.

Tilting her head, Lyris grinned at the other woman. With a groan, Mjoll realized what she’d implied. 

“Is that why?” Mjoll asked more quietly.

“Kindness?” Lyris asked with a raised brow. She blinked a few times before shrugging and dredging up a better reply, “As good an answer as any.”

Mjoll finished off the roll with a hum and Lyris offered her another. This time, she earned a small smile from the warrior. “How many of those did you buy?”

Lyris answered honestly with a wry quirk to her lips, “All of them.” Before Mjoll could ask more Lyris waved a hand and continued, “Synda needed money for medicine and a healer this last winter when Dravin caught ill. I paid for both. In return, she bakes for me whatever I wish and I still give her regular coin. What I don’t eat or tease you with, I give to the orphanage and people in the ratway.”

Mjoll’s golden eyes blinked at her a few times before she looked away and muttered, “but you’re a thief.”

Lyris barked a laugh, startling one of the mudcrabs into whistling angrily at her and disappearing into the water. “True, but stealing doesn't automatically make someone a bad person. Though, don’t dismiss that I am.”

“How do you figure?”

Lyris shrugged, “I suppose you know I’m in the guild. No harm in admitting that one, but there are some good people there. We take care of each other which is more than I can say for some who  don’t steal. Stealing from people… I suppose it’s not a good thing to do but there is a difference between being a good person and doing a bad thing. Good people can still do bad and bad people like myself can still do good. It’s a pity, really, but people aren’t simple.”

Mjoll’s thoughtful hum echoed out and Lyris stretched back onto the warm wood of the dock while her legs dangled over the edge. She knew not to dip her toes in the water even if it would have been lovely. Too many mudcrabs in this area for it to be safe. She definitely felt like she could use a swim though. Perhaps she’d go later that night and use the waterbreathing spell she’d learned with Veezara. The small lump of the coin purse pressing into her back went ignored as she thought over her plans for that evening.

“Have you lived in Riften long?” Mjoll asked with a glance over her shoulder to where Lyris was stretched.

“Only a few years. It was worse when I got here, you know.”

“You travel much?”

Lyris chuckled, “So many questions. Yeah, I traveled a little.” As an assassin, her work had taken her all over skyrim, but Mjoll didn’t need to know  _ that _ . Lyris continued with a lazy smile, “Never left skyrim though. Meant to, but I just haven’t gotten there yet. I was thinking about heading into Morrowind when I got here. Wanted to maybe see Mournhold… maybe go down and see Black Marsh.”

“Why Black Marsh?”

“Knew someone from there. From Stormhold if I remember correctly.” Lyris tilted her head towards Mjoll and raised a hand to partially shield her eyes from the sun, “And you? Have you traveled much?”

This time, Mjoll gave a full and rather proud smile as she answered, “I've been adventuring across Tamriel since I was a fresh-faced young woman barely able to swing a blade. My travels have taken me from High Rock to Valenwood, Elsweyr to Morrowind and all points in between.”

“Oh?” Lyris sat up and away from the almost-too-warm sting of the wood on her back, one of her hands snagging the bag of gold as she spoke, “That’s quite a feat. ...what happened to end you in Riften with a debt?”

Mjoll’s face fell and she picked idly at the last of her roll. “I got careless. I lost my blade, Grimsever, within a Dwarven ruin. I took it as a sign that I was wasting my time in search of wealth. … You and I are alike. We seek challenge and great fortune. But for me, that's where the similarities end. You see, Riften is my great beast to be slain and my fortune comes from  _ gratitude _ and  _ trust _ . Aerin saved my life, I owe him this much at least…” She faded off with a shrug, “Anyhow… thanks. For the food I mean. I’m not taking your gold.”

Lyris chuckled and shook her head. “Your gold now, Lion-eyes. You earned it winning those brawls.”

“What?”

Lyris pulled the coinpurse out from behind her and set it gently into the other woman’s lap. “Placed bets with the others on if I could get you to fight me again. It’s not stolen coin. Won from a bet. Fair and square.”

Mjoll stared down at the leather bag for a far too many heartbeats before her hands closed around the pouch. Need or greed finally winning over stubborn pride. “You make any other bets?” Her voice was tight even though she’d apparently been trying to sound nonchalant.

Swinging her leg idly, Lyris leaned back once more against the warm wood and hummed, “Of course.”

“Can I ask?”

“I bet,” Lyris said with a slowly growing grin as she watched a lone cloud that lingered in the warm sky, “That I could get you to kiss me. Lot of good coin on that one.”

Mjoll’s stoney face slipped into her field of view. Pale yellow hair and golden eyes fierce as she stared down and blocked away the sun. Mjoll’s voice was like icy steel as she spoke, “I guess you’re going to owe someone some a lot of ‘good’ coin then.” 

Lyris listened to the once more angry stomps as they thudded down the wooden planks.

It wasn’t a bet she’d actually made, but the more she thought about it… it was one she thought she might be able to win. Or, one that she at least wanted to.


	5. Chapter 5

It was several months since that fateful day with Mjoll. The warrior became Lyris’ regular midday eating partner and they talked about traveling or whatever nonsense came to mind. Through it all Lyris never brought up the bet and Mjoll seemed content to let it slide.

What Mjoll didn’t know was that Lyris had greased palms and paid a hefty price for info-- with the ultimate goal soon to be realized as she intended to leave on something of a quest. She’d never been good at breaking news so while they were packing away the extra food Lyris blurted out, “I’m leaving.”

Mjoll gave her a confused smile from where she knelt, “yes?”

“No,” Lyris shook her head and sat back down onto the dock. Grabbing onto the wood to steel herself, she looked over the water and tried to explain, “I’m leaving Riften. Have some business in the North. I…” she paused and cleared her throat, “I won't be here tomorrow.”

The hurt that crept over Mjoll’s face was masked almost as quickly as it had come. “Are you coming back?”

Lyris tilted her head and smiled at the nord woman who’d managed to unknowingly steal the heart of the one and only thieves guild leader. “I hope so.”

“Is it work for the guild?”

Almost unconsciously, Lyris rubbed the palm that was tattooed a solid black. Not the guild that Mjoll meant but Lyris had indeed planned to make a stop up in Dawnstar and listen to the night mother before gearing up and heading down to the more personal quest of trying to find Mjoll’s sword in the dwarven ruins. She shook her head as she answered, “Nah. It’s more a personal matter. With any luck I’ll be back in a few weeks.” 

Rubbing her hands on the simple trousers she usually wore, she shot Mjoll a nervous smile, “Listen… if you need help while I’m gone or a place to stay,  _ anything _ really-- I’ve got a house. My housecarl Iona will let you in if you… if you ever need.”

Mjoll’s eyes narrowed, “Housecarl?”

Heat seemed to roll into her cheeks as she refused to meet the warrior’s gaze. Clearing her throat nervously she said, “Uhm, yes?”

The silence was thick and heavy before Mjoll finally spoke, “So...  _ you’re _ the  **Thane** of the rift?”

Lyris’ nervous laughter seemed hollow and echoed weakly over the water, “Ah, yes. It wasn’t really intentional. I guess I earned a bit of a name for myself and I’ve no love for… certain aspects of the harder side of life. I turned in a skooma peddler who’d been… uhm, here--” Her fingers lightly tapped the dock-- “All an accident really but yes. I’ve got the title.”

She could almost feel the anger rolling off Mjoll. “So why do you dress like a dock worker? Why work for the guild?”

Lyris gripped the planks for a few moments before pushing up and lifting the basket. There was a roll of nausea from realizing that maybe she’d stepped somewhere wrong to make Mjoll so angry. However, she was unsure where that step had really  _ been _ .

Her answer was quiet and about as small as she felt as she retreated away, “Because sometimes bad people do good things.”

That night, she saddled her horse Shadowmere and left with the first of the stars that graced the night. A fist where her heart was and the feeling like someone had replaced her stomach with an iron bar. There was a desperate hope that if she could return with her quest successful that perhaps she’d be forgiven for whatever it was she’d done wrong. Perhaps Mjoll could overlook the bad for that small sliver of good.

Perhaps.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a few weeks before Lyris finally stumbled back into town. She’d left Shadowmere to be borrowed by Cicero while he did a job for the night mother. The little psycho had been positively thrilled to have a contract. That of course meant that Lyris had walked the entire way back to Riften carrying her prizes after slinking her way through the falmer infested ruins. The dwarven ruins of Mzinchaleft had been an absolute gold-mine though. The enchanted bags that Lyris had brought were stuffed to the brim and heavier than a mammoth's ballsack even with all the enchantments to lighten them. 

But the real prize was the sword.

She’d near lost an eye in the process but she’d found Grimsever. Of course, the Dwarven Centurion had gotten a good blow on her when her invisibility spell wore off quite unexpectedly. She’d held snow to the wound and desperately tried to heal it but head wounds were complicated and magic with a concussion was more-so. 

So she’d walked. Clutching the sword to her chest, she’d walked for days towards Riften. Never really even stopping for more than a few minutes of rest. Kneeling like a praying pilgrim making the perilous journey to the Throat of the World when she simply couldn’t manage another step. 

Mjoll met her just inside the gates and Lyris was pretty sure she’d never seen anything more beautiful that the blond warrior. 

Struggling to stay upright, Lyris held out the sword and hoped quite desperately that it would be enough to make Mjoll at least stay friends. Golden eyes wide with shock, Mjoll had accepted the sword slowly. Lyris felt like she couldn’t hear anything but the blood in her ears as she held her breath and waited for Mjoll to say something. 

_ Anything _ . 

Instead, Mjoll set the sword into the ground and pulled Lyris into a silent hug. The world was still spinning from the sudden movements when Mjoll pulled back just enough to press calloused fingers to Lyris’ jaw and then their lips were pressed together like hot metal in a forge. 

Divines be praised, Lyris was sure she could have died happy there. 

Instead, she simply passed out. 

She woke up in the little house she’d purchased but never actually stayed in. Beside her, Mjoll sat asleep in a chair. A blade sharpening kit and Grimsever lay over her lap.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year of friendship turned wooing romance and Mjoll agreed to take the vow of Mara with Lyris-- who had eventually revealed her real name to be Knife. They traveled together, an unstoppable force. All the while they gained titles, land, and relentless joy in making love under the open stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Warning: Smut ahead.]]

A year of friendship turned wooing romance and Mjoll agreed to take the vow of Mara with Lyris-- who had eventually revealed her real name to be Knife. They traveled together, an unstoppable force. All the while they gained titles, land, and relentless joy in making love under the open stars. 

Knife kissed Mjoll’s neck with all the ferocity of a wildfire. They’d delved into an ancient Dwemer ruin and for the first time in their adventures-- they’d come dangerously close to never leaving. Shifting her knee and sliding her thigh more firmly between her lover’s legs, she tugged the tie that belted down Mjoll’s tunic and thigh armor. Mjoll’s needy groan echoed playfully off the walls and down into Knife’s aching crotch. 

Hiking up the tunic, Knife began working on the already loose lacings while using her free hand to tug Mjoll into riding her leg. Hot breath brushed against Knife’s pointed ear as Mjoll gave a breathy chuckle. “You’re impatient today. I like it.”

Knife bit gently at the bared curve between neck and shoulder, earning a small gasp before she answered, “I told myself that if we made it out alive I was going to make you scream my name for all the ghosts that wretched cave held. I intend to do just that.”

One final tug and the laces on Mjoll’s pants finally popped free. Grinning against her lover’s skin, Knife shifted her hip so that she could slid her hand down the pale skin and past the honey colored curls. A gentle brush of her fingers earned a gasp. Her lover was slick. Wetness bordering on lewd-- Knife worked kisses up the neck and to the soft warm mouth that parted in panting moans for every teasing stroke. 

With a pleased hum, Knife shifted her other hand and tapped Mjoll’s leg. It was a move they’d practiced-- falling only twice in their early attempts. Mjoll took the silent command and braced back against the wall while Knife hauled her upwards after freeing her hand. Legs settled over her shoulders, Knife took a short moment to pass Mjoll the crossbow before she buried her face in the curls. They’d made an agreement for sex near dangerous areas-- no taking off armour and someone always had to be on guard. 

All in all-- Knife, honestly prefered beds but there was something intoxicating about eating out her wife just after a battle. 

Mjoll’s taste was as entrancing and strong as her moans but Knife held back, teasing with long slow licks. A hand tangled in Knife’s pitch colored hair with the unspoken demand and she grinned at Mjoll’s impatient grip. She pulled back, nipping at the partially clothed thigh as she spoke, “Now who’s impatient?”

“Ugh. Would it be it better if I begged?” Mjoll huffed.

Knife shifted her grip on Mjoll’s ass as she freed a hand and tugged the lacing on the special breeches further. If it had been a proper ledge, she would have used her other hand to touch herself as well but alas, this cave was not as accommodating as she desired and she had to maintain their careful balance. Knife licked over her lips slowly while casting a glance upwards towards Mjoll’s already somewhat flushed face. “Maybe. So far, I can’t be sure you  _ really _ want me.”

“Gods, you are so lucky I love you. Fine… I’ll beg. But only if you use your fingers while you lick.” 

“Of course,” Knife purred as she slid a finger slowly over the slick wetness and toyed gently at her lover’s bud as she bit the now exposed thigh skin. The special breeches had been expensive but well worth it. Magic protections kept them clean and they could be parted at the crotch for just such an occasion as this. Mjoll’s head arched back momentarily as she whimpered. Knife gave a lazy grin and toyed gently with her slick entrance. 

“I want you to watch me,” she said softly in between grazing kisses, “and I want to watch you come and scream it like a victory cry.”

Mjoll’s gaze came back down and her warm brown eyes locked with Knife’s as she licked slowly along her slit. Lips like the rare pink mountain flowers parted with her gasp before Mjoll spoke, her tone equally full of lust and exasperation, “Please? Please make me come my love.”

Knife couldn’t help the pleased laugh that escaped as she pressed her tongue once more in a solid press of slit to clit. Sucking bites were added to the mix but she still teased slowly until Mjoll gave the first impatient buck of her lips and another soft plea echoed off the rocks. Knife pressed fingers with aching slowness into her lover and watched as Mjoll started to struggle to keep her eyes from straying. 

With a gentle curl of her fingers, she switched to swirling her tongue in little flicks the way Mjoll had told her she prefered. The pink flush that Knife adored spread over Mjoll’s face as her breathing changed to desperate little pants. When she finally came, it was with a studdering cry that echoed out of the cave and over the mountain range.

Not for the first time, Knife silently thanked whatever gods it was that had given her someone as amazing as her Lioness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The years passed to find them with a home and four adopted wee-devils known as children.
> 
> _Not long ago they’d paused their adventuring to build a house outside of town. A lovely little spot just to the west of whiterun beside the river. The giant manor had been finished less than a month ago and finally their growing family had room to move. And oh, it was definitely a growing family.  
>  But now it was all being threatened. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Warning: slight downer after that last chapter but it's going to be okay, okay?]]  
> [[Also, the **children are written as follows** \-- Sofie (Nord. 10), Lucia (Bosmer. 7), Alesan (Redguard. 11), Blaise (Altmer/Breton. 9)]]

“Sofie, honey, I need you to hide in the cellar with your siblings. Take one of my swords and Blaise... and stay quiet. If I’m not back in a few days you might need to get out on your own,”  Knife said as she tugged on her armour in a rush.

Mjoll knelt talking quietly to Alesan who held a crying Lucia’s hand. How Knife had ended up with such an amazing family. Four young children had become part of their life and thought it was a little rare for them to be home-- the housecarls took good care of the children and she and Mjoll never failed to bring home a gift or treat. 

Not long ago they’d paused their adventuring to build a house outside of town. A lovely little spot just to the west of whiterun beside the river. The giant manor had been finished less than a month ago and  _ finally _ their growing family had room to move. And oh, it was  _ definitely _ a growing family.

But now it was all being threatened. 

Rumors of dragon attacks were becoming more frequent and a runner from the Jarl had arrived only moments ago-- begging for aid against a group of dragons ravaging the town and some of the surrounding area. 

Knife turned and clasped the arm of her Housecarl. “Argis, you may hate me for this but I need you to stay here with the children. Move what you can to the basement. Defend this home.”

His mouth opened and closed as if he was fighting words and his blind eye squinted as his brow turned down in a frown. “Yes, my thane.” He said in a dark baritone.

She patted his tattooed cheek with a fierce grin, “Don’t worry. Next time you can join and it’ll be Gregor’s turn to watch the wee ones.”

“Hold you to it, Knife,” Argis relented with a strained smile.

Pulling a purse from her pack, Knife tossed it towards a nearby mage with a grin. The gold sung with the action and he caught it deftly with a grin. 

“Five hundred gold means you’re mine tonight Marc,” Knife said as she tightened the laces on her boots.

“Oh honey, I’d be yours anyway,” Marcurio sniped with a wink as he hefted his staff.

Vorstag barked a laugh, “Oh? Wasn’t it just last week you were grousing about not being paid enough? Shor’s blood, you change your mind quick.”

Knife left them to argue as she knelt down once more with the children who hadn’t moved. Her calloused thumb worn to hardness not by bow but the strings of a lute that the children always begged her to play, brushed away one of the tears that had escaped the little half-mer’s eyes. “I cannot promise to come back Blaise, but I can promise that you will never be without a home and I will  _ always _ love you.”

He nodded, hands clenched to tight fists. 

Knife tucked some of his loose hair behind his small pointed ear before placing a kiss on his brow. She loved them all equally but all of them were orphans once and she knew they feared it might happen again. Being an orphan herself, she knew that feeling to some degree and had taken steps to ensure they would be cared for no matter what. Even going so far as to begging promises from her old friends in the dark brotherhood. She knew if something happened, her children would be okay.

Sticky small hands touched her face and her attention was pulled down to the youngest. A Bosmer babe who couldn’t be more than seven winters with curling brown hair and bright yellow eyes. She didn’t talk much and had been the newest adoption. Yet the other children had taken her in without pause and she’d become almost inseparable from Alesan who was the oldest of the group. His dark redguard skin set him apart from the other children as did his keen mind. More than once Knife had caught him reading in her personal library-- the lock jammed so that he could get in.

She’d given him a key to the room and a strict warning not to touch the black bound books near the top.

Oh, he’d of course tried. She’d seen the magical enchantment on his hands a day later and the guilty look in his eyes but since then he’d always obeyed. 

“Ma?” Lucia asked in her whisper soft voice.

Knife gently peeled the sticky hand away and kissed Lusia’s brow, “Ma and Mum need to go fight dragons, little bird. And you… you need to wash your hands and hide in the cellar with your siblings.”

“Come back...please?”

“I’ll try, little bird,” she answered without lie. The children had had enough adults lie and never come back-- they didn’t need one more.

Lucia nodded, curls bouncing before she grabbed Blaise and Alesan by the hands and lead them away with Sofie trailing behind.

Saddled horses waited, Gregor and the jarl’s runner had hurried to put saddle to the beasts. Well, all but Shadowmere who’s faintly glowing red eyes seemed to unnerve folk and her people knew her well enough not to saddle during an emergency. Knife leapt onto the barebacked Shadowmere with little issue. Even if he was large enough to give most mammoths pause, she’d never had trouble swinging up to her perch on his back. On the rare occasion that Cicero had borrowed the stallion… she stifled the laugh that the memory always brought. The little jester had gotten so hopping mad after he split his pants trying to jump up that he’d thrown a fit and stopped rhyming for an entire day. It had been the only time she’d seen him change out of the outfit and into a spare of a slightly darker hue. 

The other horses pranced nervously. Smoke rode on the wind and she could smell hints of burning flesh. This night was going to be difficult and she could only pray that their house would be safe. 

It was with a pound of hooves that the group set off. They beat the ground like drums before battle as they charged towards where the dragons were last sighted. She and Marcurio both sent mage lights ahead to light the way. The swirling balls of light illuminating the land like little suns-- they could already see the wreckage.

What wasn’t on fire was carved in furrows from claws and rubble from jaws.

Dead cows. Burning dogs. Dying farmers. Whiterun was in chaos. In the distance, the jarl’s guards fought bravely against a trio of dragons. Where one dragon would bait the soldiers into attacking, the others would land in the rear and hassle the men who’s backs were turned. Even the jarl’s own housecarl, Irileth, was out in the fray. An angry old dark elf with more scars and paranoia than sense. She barked orders to the men who were fighting a losing battle. 

Knife, Mjoll, and their hired band joined the fray in a clash of scale and sword.

The battle was grizzly at best. 

Spells, swords, arrows, and screaming fury echoed over the battlefield as the dragons changed tactics over and over. 

The beasts were smart.

Alarmingly so.

Still, they bested one. It fell with an angry scream as the others backed away. Swirling light left the corpse and Knife raised a magic ward to try and shield off the impending light that headed towards her. Instead it passed through her shield in into her. The feeling of being filled and power beneath her skin was just short of overwhelming.

It was also distracting.

With snarls, the remaining dragons took advantage of everyone’s distraction and attacked. Great golden jaws closed over Mjoll’s body as Knife turned and her world stopped as she watched as blood and screams came from where her love had once stood. She leapt without thinking, Spells in her hands and sithis’ dagger in the other. The palm of her hand touched the scales and the special brotherhood spell was activated-- draining the dragon’s life and directing it towards Mjoll as Knife desperately stabbed at the beast.

Soon it too fell dead and the last beast took to the sky with angry rolling words in dragon tongue. 

Even as the light surrounded her once more-- Knife took no heed as she grabbed a pike from a soldier and began to try and pry the beast’s jaw open. 

“Mjoll, my love, do not give up,” Knife snarled as she kicked desperately at the giant teeth. 

Marcurio knelt nearby, healing magic swirling from his fingertips as he held Mjoll’s shaking hand and her only response was a pained hiss.  The mage was pale and shaking-- like Knife, he’s used too much magicka in the battle and now was struggling to cast. 

Yet cast he did. 

More soldiers joined in to help-- a new and desperate battle to open the jaws as one of the men was sent to fetch healers. 

Irileth knelt nearby and soon her own healing magic was joining in though one of her own arms hung limp and heavy by her side, too broken to be moved easily. 

Screaming, Knife poured magic into opening the jaw of the beast until, finally, Mjoll was free. The sound of Mjoll’s body being pulled from the gaping maw was like stepping into shallow mud. The sickening squish and bubble of blood accompanied the blond nord’s keel of pain. 

Knife fell to kneel beside Mjoll and Marcuio and Irileth who all tried desperately to help. Hand on Mjoll’s chest, Knife joined in with her own much stronger healing gift. She could feel it as she worked-- there was so much broken and so much blood lost. Her prayers to Mara, Talos, Stendarr or any god who would listen tumbled from her lips between spells until she worked herself past exhaustion and into unconsciousness.

She woke in the temple of Kynareth with small warm forms pressed against her stomach and a tiny hand playing with her fingers. Looking down revealed the children-- curled like a mass of pups against her with puffy eyes and dirty cheeks. Lucia was weaving flowers around her fingers with a determined pout while the others appeared to still be fast asleep. 

Argis sat nearby, ash on his face and a small smile. “You’re awake.”

“Mjoll?” she rasped while adjusting one of the children’s elbows from the painful position of her ribs. 

“She lives. The healers won’t let us in to see her yet. The wounds… they couldn’t heal all of it.”

“Thank the nine,” Knife said as she fell back. She felt weak and tired. Too tired to try and fight her way in to see her lioness. The news that she was living was enough.

“We lose anyone?”

“Gregor lost a leg. Marcurio overdid it with the magic. Vorstag got some burns and is complaining about wanting a raise. We’re all alive though.”

“The house?”

“Dragon attacked. Didn’t last long though. Just blew fire for a few minutes and flew. The enchantments you, Marc, and that khajiit did on the roof worked though. ...lost the goats though.”

She stretched out her free hand, “and you?”

He took it. Big hands gentle as if she was some frail thing that might break. “Kind of you to ask, but I’m not hurt. A little tired. The little ones were a nightmare once they heard about Mjoll. Insisted we come here.”

She smiled slowly. Argis cared more for the little ones than he’d let on and she saw the looks he sometimes shared with Marcurio. Altogether, they were an odd family… but they were family all the same.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mjoll always knew when she was lying. Yet as always, she never pressed for the truth. Somehow someone so… good had taken in someone who was less worthy.
> 
> [[A few years in the future]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Warning, some mention of blood, some -mild- smut, and probably too many feels to be healthy?]]

Knife sat in front of the dying fire. Everyone was already asleep by the time she arrived at the house. She still felt as if she was shaking off snow from the mountains and there was a tiredness that had settled into her very bones.

Still, she wasn’t sure she could sleep even if she _wanted_ to. So, instead, she sat in front of the fire deep in thought until gentle hands startled her gaze from the dying embers. Mjoll stood in only a nightgown. Warm cottons that dipped below her collarbone where the scars from the dragon attack still lingered in pale pink. “When did you return?”

Knife blinked at the question before dropping her gaze back to the fire, “About midnight. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Mjoll pushed her back on the little stool and straddled her hips. Knife didn’t miss the slight grimace the action cause as cold armour touched bared flesh. “How did it go?”

“I met a dragon.”

It was only half the story.

Mjoll kissed her slowly with a little hum, “you always meet dragons.”

For once, Knife didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead she wrapped her arms around Mjoll and hugged her close as she rested her head against her wife’s shoulder. Her voice was soft and bitter as she corrected, “No. I kill them. There is a difference.”

 _It’s all I’m good for. Killing and murder… how do you even love me_?

Mjoll’s bad hand came up to give Knife’s ear a shaky caress. “And this one you met? Knife ...did something happen?”

 _Yes_.

“No.” Knife lied. “Just thinking. ...I missed you.”

Mjoll always knew when she was lying. Yet, she never pressed for the truth. Somehow someone so… good had taken in someone who was less worthy. A bad person who did good things didn’t deserve a wife like this and gods above, she’d almost lost her. Knife couldn’t help the tears that escaped without warning.

“Knife,” Mjoll spoke softly. Her breath hot against the ear she was closest to.

It wasn’t quite a demand, nor was it really a question. Yet it held both and Knife shook her head. “Not tonight.”

She could feel Mjoll’s nod. “How long are you back for?”

Knife took a shaky breath and shook her head, “M’not. Headed to Markarth in the morning but Shadow needed rest. Needed to pick up some things. ...wanted to see you and the kids.”

 _Perhaps just this one last time_ , she finished silently.

Mjoll’s arms slid over her shoulders. Warm and heavy weights that held Knife in place. “The children miss you.”

 _I miss me_ , Knife joked in her head. The sentiment was lost as she held back another sob that threatened to come out like a khajiit hacking a hairball. Gods, she didn’t want to leave but another damned dragon had been sighted and the jarl had called for aid. The dragonborn was needed and she couldn’t dally. Afterwards she was headed to Solitude to see a healer mage on a rumor and do business for the Dawnguard.

_Gods, could she never get a break?_

Dragons, Vampire, bandit or daedra-- it never seemed to end. She’d hired on Macruio permanently after he’d married Argis. Gregor managed the household paperwork. Her new thane Lydia worked with Iona and occasionally Babette in protecting the houses from vampire attacks. Vorstag and Jenassa joined the blades with J’zargo. Her two traveling companions, Kharjo and Derkeethus were off on a mission with the dawnguard and she was to meet them. How she’d ended up embroiled in this mess…

Mjoll leaned away and tilted Knife’s head back with a gentle hand beneath her chin. “Knife. Are you alright? You’re looking a little off.”

Knife’s breath hitched and she swallowed thickly. _How to explain?_

The hand moved to tilt Knife’s head and Mjoll frowned. “...you were bitten.”

Gaze dropping to the side, Knife didn’t try to fight Mjoll as her wife slipped from her lap and away. Cold air replaced the space. Empty hands. Knife stared blankly at her hands and wondered idly if that was the last her lioness would ever let her touch her. If that small moment would be the last?

Mjoll’s voice wasn’t accusing, just calm and steady as she asked, “Does the dawnguard know?”

Knife shook her head and curled forward. Shaking hands pressing against her forehead when she couldn’t find words. Couldn’t explain.

“By the nine... it was on purpose. Wasn’t it?”

Gods, Mjoll was always so observant and smart. She’d guessed it faster than she’d guessed her damn anniversary present four years ago. Knife closed her eyes and didn’t answer.

To her surprise, Mjoll moved to a cupboard with a hum and pulled out a dusty bottle. Her limp was soft over the floor with her bare feet as she returned and held the enchanted bottle out. “Babette left a few of these. It’s what you really came back for, right?”

Knife shook her head, still staring at the floor. How could she tell the woman she loved that she’d already fed like some sort of oblivion damned beast? That she’d ripped out a bandit’s throat with her teeth and drinking the fresh blood had been nearly orgasmic? That she enjoyed it? That she almost didn’t want to follow up on the rumor of there being a cure.

Mjoll was hesitant but after a few seconds she put down the bottle of blood and once more settled onto Knife’s lap. At Mjoll’s allowance, Knife pressed her face to the bared shoulder once more and held her.  Her beautiful lioness was warm. Alive. She was worth going into the Pale to find a cure. She was worth days or possibly months of slogging around in the marsh. Her beautiful warm lioness and their children were worth giving up this.

“So this dragon.” Mjoll said softly. “What was he like?”

Knife unwrapped a hand long enough to pull out her journal. She passed it to Mjoll without a word as she wrapped her arms around her wife tightly once more. Early into Mjoll’s injury, when she couldn’t adventure anymore and Knife was called away on Thane errands, they had started the practice. Knife drew and wrote the sights and tales of her travels. Upon her return they would curl by the fire and read it aloud together.

Now, Knife almost regretted the ritual as Mjoll read aloud in a quiet voice as to not wake the children.

“I write this, knowing I might not return. That these words may gather dust like the journals we once found beside cold skeletons in dark caves. Serena and I have made our way through the secret parts of Castle Volkihar. Home of the vampires and everything I have spent the last few years fighting. Through crumbling towers we’ve climbed and finally entered the room belonging to Serana’s mother. I cannot pass through this gateway alive, so against my better judgment I have agreed to allow Serana to turn me. May the divines have mercy on my soul.

…We have wandered the soul cairn for what seems like days but there is no sun to tell the passage of time. Though this place is made for the dead, I find it is an entrancing sort of beautiful. The sky is always clouded and colored like nightshade blooms and the trees are stark and bare. Mist swirls around our small camp as I write. There is an odd peace here.”

Mjoll paused to shift her position, the journal was held somewhere behind Knife’s head when Mjoll started to read again, “We have defeated one of the Keepers. Although I have not needed to eat, I feel an odd weakness in my body. Serana tells me that it would be best if we fed soon or the feeling will increase. … We have done it. The Keepers are done and I have made an ally, Durnehviir, an undead dragon who smells of rot. Having freed him from his curse to guard this place, I am able to summon him by calling his name in the dragon language.”

When Mjoll tuned the page, she fell silent. Knife knew she still read. The shaky notes and the bloodstains told all the story it needed. Knife hadn’t dared write of how she’d felt in drinking the blood, yet she’d written notes of the day and a part of her feared that Mjoll somehow knew the parts that weren’t spilled in black ink.

In the silence, Knife found herself falling asleep, Mjoll’s heartbeat loud in her hears as she sat in front of the fire. She woke when Mjoll finally shifted with a groan, “Love, I know you’re falling asleep but your armour is making an uncomfortable intrusion on my thigh.”

With a snort, Knife wrapped her arms tighter and stood. Her legs threatened with numb tingles as she shifted one hand to Mjoll’s ass to brace her. Complying like she had back when they were freshly married, Mjoll wrapped her legs around Knife’s waist and she carried a giggling Mjoll towards the bedroom. It wasn’t easy. Being tired from the road and having been sitting with her wife on her lap for so long made working legs difficult.

One hand cradled Mjoll’s neck as she set her down on the bed and knelt between her legs. At one point, she would have never have hesitated to do what she was thinking of. There had been equal trust between them. Yet she could see the worry behind Mjoll’s smile and a matching lump of her own fears settled in her throat.

Knife forced a smile back as she stripped off her gauntlets and gloves. She may have to leave soon but damned if she was leaving her wife without something to remember. Kissing her way slowly, she rubbed her hands along Mjoll’s thighs. She could hear the change in Mjoll’s heartbeat and breathing instantly now. Every thud was a drumbeat and Knife knew this instrument by heart. The nightgown pushed up from Mjoll’s arching hips and Knife slid a hand further up to palm a breast as Mjoll gave a shuddering breath.

“You’re sure?”

Knife kissed her inner thigh before pulling her dagger out and offering it to Mjoll. “You feel unsafe. Afraid. Use it.”

“Knife...”

Knife closed her eyes and continued to kiss along the thrumming pulse line that followed the length of Mjoll’s thigh. She was full of life. It would break Knife if she hurt her but there was a fear, cold and clutching, that it could happen.

Mjoll took the dagger. Holding it above her head in her good hand as the other slid down to hold Knife’s.

When Knife finally kissed her way to the blond curls of Mjoll’s mound, she felt like she couldn’t hear anything past the rapid heartbeat of her lover. She shifted Mjoll’s leg up so that she had better access since Mjoll had yet to let go of her other hand.

It was over far sooner than she wanted. Sweet moans were muffled by the bedding as to not wake the children. Tongue against the slit and fingers pressing the entrance before curling as if to beckon the release that was building. Mjoll’s hand squeezed tight and the dagger hit the floor somewhere on the other side of the bed as she arched.

Knife kissed the trembling stomach as she pulled away. Already Mjoll’s breathing was evening out and if allowed, she’d fall asleep. So Knife tucked her carefully into bed-- brushing fingers over the scars from the day that had taken Mjoll’s ability to travel and wield a blade. She kissed the damp forehead before setting to look for her gauntlets and dagger.

The washbasin nearby was warmed with heating runes and Knife washed her face and hands before looking back at Mjoll once more. If it was up to her, she’d never leave.

But too much was up to her, and leave she had to.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aluin defeated. The vampire lord dead and their numbers scattered. Our hero can finally turn her gaze towards home.

Knife stood nervously at the center of the ruin circle. The redguard Falion leaned against one of the nearby pillars with tired rings under his eyes. Together they were waiting for the sunrise. 

It had taken ages to track the man down, and in that time she hadn’t dared return home beyond the stolen moment to watch the children from afar one cloudy afternoon. Even with the thick cloak she’d borrowed from Serana the sun burned her skin, but it had been worth it to see them. Never before had she been gone longer than a month. Now… nearly a year of being unable to sleep, hunting dragons and vampires in the dead of night. 

Nearly a year too long.

Yet she had found the cure-- the thing that was said not to exist. 

Her shoulders sagged as she waited. It would hurt-- that much was guaranteed but pain was nothing new. What she worried most for was that there were likely to be aftereffects. As Falion had only performed the ritual once he had told her what he knew but so much was left to the unknowns.

The fangs would get smaller but never return to normal. Weakness to fire may still be an issue and the sun may always burn her flesh more than normal. Her eyes would never quite lose the reflective khajiit like quality and her love for blood… would diminish but never go away. She would lose some of the strength and speed though. For the last few months it had helped in her hunts against the dragons but even that she would give up if it meant she could go home for just one day. Just one more day of holding Mjoll against her. 

“Prepare yourself,” Falion warned as he pushed off the stone. 

Finally the sky had lightened and though mist was heavy around her ankles she didn’t feel like she could take the beauty of it as she watched and waited for the sun. It came up, a shining sliver just beyond the trees as Falion began to chant. She listened to the words and tried to commit them to memory to be written down later.

Wouldn’t do to lose a ritual like this and perhaps the Dawnguard could use it to save people.

As he finished the chant, the black soulgem shattered and pain made her muscles stiffen and spasm. 

“Don’t fight it!” He called over the roar in her ears. “Let it in!”

Her hand clutched at her chest desperately as the first thump of her heart began. One. Two. Three. She gasped for breath through the blur of tears. It hurt more than she thought-- as if someone had started a fire under her skin and injected acid into her veins. 

A hand touched her shoulder and water was offered as Falion squatted next to her. “Keep breathing. Nice and even. Small sips. You won't be able to eat anything solid for a day or two I think, but you’ll need the water. ...how do you feel?”

“Like I tried to beat Sanguine at a drinking contest,” She rasped while sitting hard on the cool stone.

He chuckled and sat with her. “Met many daedric lords have you?”

She took a careful sip from the skin of water before answering. “Some. Met Sheogorath a few times. Had some dealings with Nocturnal, cheery lass. ...Got a sword out of killing a necromancer for Meridia.” She covered a rasping cough before continuing, “hunted a werewolf for Hircine. Cleansed Azura’s star for Azura. ...my wife and I helped a town suffering from Vaermina a few years back. Had to stay awake for three days. Shit job but we got it done.”

Falion raised a brow, “Not many people could brag such a bold wealth of experiences.”

Knife tucked her legs up and took a deep breath as she handed the waterskin back to him. “Not many people are the dragonborn fated to save the world.”

“Ah. And you believe you are fated for this?”

“Not by choice. All I wanted was to retire and raise our kids. We’ve got four. ...wanted to garden. Be normal.”

“How long have you been gone?” 

She looked up at the morning clouds as she answered. “About a year. I started tallying the days so that I didn’t forget. ... I may have lost a few here and there though.”

He nodded quietly, “Why so long?”

“It was remarkably hard to find you and I must answer the summons of the jarls whenever a dragon is sighted. It took time.”

His dark eyes were piercing beneath his hood as he hummed in agreement, “Well I’m pleased I could help a member of the dawnguard nonetheless. Are you feeling well enough to return to town.”

She pushed from the ground with a groan. “My horse will take me home. I can rest on the road.”

“You are quite sure?”

“Quite.”

Falion gave a small bow, “Then I wish you the best, Thane Knife. Should you ever need my services you know where to find me. Though, I hope this is the last I ever see of you.”

Clutching her still aching chest, Knife stared at the now rising sun. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥ Hey, thank you for reading! This is it. The end. However, you never know-- I may add more stories with these two someday. Until then-- thank you for following along on this adventure. ♥

**Author's Note:**

> [[Author's note: Another one of those _'I've been sitting on this story for ages like a dragon hoarding wealth'_ and I decided to finally share. Also, once again, this was actually started as an attempt to wrangle ahold of the backstory of the character so that I could write.... something else? But to paraphrase someone-- _'if another event in your character's life is more interesting than what you're writing now, then you're writing the wrong story'_ So I wrote this and I'm posting it separately.]]


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